


it's strategic: karkat, eridan

by coldhope



Series: HHCOD fills [23]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Horror, Egg Laying, Eggpreg, M/M, Non-Sgrub AU, Oviparous Trolls, Rape, hhcod request ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldhope/pseuds/coldhope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat, rebel leader, makes an unsettling discovery during a supply-ship raid: a purple seatroll, disgraced, miserable, and massively gravid. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>It's hard to not stare at the huge mound of his belly. "It's gonna take us a couple nights to get back to the base. You're gonna have to stay in here. Please for all fuck's sake do not lay eggs on my bunk or I will have to flip my shit so hard the fucking ship's gyros will explode."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	it's strategic: karkat, eridan

**Author's Note:**

> illustrated by [spockandawe!](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/)

elementalsight asked:  
Okay, oviparous trolls and the revolution: Eridan fucks up during a battle for the empress and is turned into a breeder. He gets 'rescued' when Karkat and his rebels lead an attack on a supply ship and free a bunch of lowbloods. Trolls are pretty... disturbed by any troll who's obviously oviparous so Eridan's an outcast to everyone. Cue someone (Karkat, Sollux, Equius, Aradia) trying to help him because he's pitiful. Bonus points for being gravid being really traumatizing.  
~

You almost don't see the breeder hiding in the very back of the hold. Nepeta and Equius are efficiently removing crates of supplies--you're privately a little surprised at how successful the raid has been, this is actually shit your people need, not half a hundredweight of Imperial gaper tissue or stacks of requisition forms. Perhaps because of this you're standing to one side watching the crates being carried out and not paying a lot of attention to the shadowy far end of the cargo bay, until something whimpers. 

Shit, you think. The lowblood slaves had all been in reasonably good condition--mostly rusts, some olives, a couple browns, low-yellows--and it had only taken a little bit of shouting to get them to understand that in fact you were there to free them. Aradia had taken them back to your ship, which was going to be crowded, and none of them had needed to be patched up beyond scrapes and bruises. 

Whatever just whimpered sounds like it's in more dire straits. You pull your blaster and advance on the shadows, and realize that the dim purple glow you've been seeing isn't from some electrical panel back there. It's outlining a troll. 

There's something very wrong, though, and until you get up close to the troll you can't tell what it is; when you shine your flashlight over it, you take an involuntary step back. It's a seatroll, high violet--that'd explain the glow--and it is also hugely, heavily gravid. 

It--he--whimpers again when you pass the circle of light over him, and squeezes his eyes shut. Jesus, there must be five or six eggs in there, his abdomen is vastly swollen, the skin taut and shiny--his shirt won't stretch over the huge mound, and the faint purple dots of bioluminescence are laddered and blurred. You swallow hard against nausea. 

Fuck. 

You've made the decision already, but it doesn't stop you wishing to all hell that you hadn't heard him whimper. Holstering your gun, you prod him with your toe. "Hey," you say. "Can you walk?"

He opens his eyes again and stares up at you. They're glowing, too, vast in a haggard face. He's skinny as fuck except for that massive egg-swollen belly. "Can you _walk_ ," you repeat. 

"Who are you?" 

"Harry the Happy Hoofbeast, does it fucking matter, _can you walk_ or am I gonna have to get Zahhak to carry you?"

He goes on staring, and you can see the realization rise behind his eyes: you're not in Imp uniform. You can also see when he twigs that you are actually offering to get him off the ship, and he scrambles to get up, awkward and off-balance. You have to give him a hand, and he leans on your shoulder--at least a head taller than you--but he's trying not to slow you down too bad. 

~

"The fuck did you take _that_ on board for?" Vriska demands, throwing up her hands and staring at you across the chart table. "We don't have room for the goddamn slaves, let alone a fucking _breeder_ , they give me the creeps."

"They give everyone the creeps, Serket," Aradia says from the pilot's seat. 

"Well, why do we have to put up with it? It's going to be _nights_ before we can get it off the fucking ship, and it looks like it's about to pop already."

"He's violet," you say, holding on to your patience with both hands and your teeth. "Which could be useful. So belt up and get on with your actual job, Vriska. I'm done talking."

"'I'm done talking,' she repeats with a sneer, but she does flip back her hair and shut up, focusing on the chart display to plot a safe course back to your base. 

~

You've put the breeder in the only place you can think of where he'll be relatively safe and also not creep the fuck out of everyone else on board: your cabin. Which is a pretty amusing term for a space so small it contains a bunk, a chair, and a fold-down ablution basin and not a whole lot else. He's lying on the bunk with his eyes shut when you come in, but opens them to stare at you. 

It's hard to not stare at the huge mound of his belly. "It's gonna take us a couple nights to get back to the base. You're gonna have to stay in here. Please for all fuck's sake do not lay eggs on my bunk or I will have to flip my shit so hard the fucking ship's gyros will explode."

"Why are you doin' this?" He's got an accent you can't place.

"I'm in charge of this operation, I'm the one who has to tell people what to do." You fold your arms.

"No, I mean...why did you take me?"

"Couldn't very well leave you there, could I?" You're scowling ferociously. "Besides, you're purple, you probably got your head stuffed full of useful intel. It's strategic."

Amazingly, he laughs--a little ragged sound that almost immediately turns into a groan, and he clutches his swollen abdomen. Fuck, you think, is he gonna lay eggs _now_? You weren't kidding about the shit-flipping thing. 

"Whatever intel I got," he says after a moment, lying back, looking ill, "is yours for the takin', but it's gonna be at least half a sweep outta date. Ain't been anythin' more militarily significant than a egg-bearer for a while."

"What do you mean?"

"You think they do this to trolls they actually _like_?" He gestures to the mass of eggs. "I fucked up."

You are trying not to understand, but it isn't working. "Wait, they...they made you a breeder as a punishment?"

"Got it in one," he says.

"That's fucking horrific."

"Can't help but agree."

You pull over the chair, reverse it, sit down with your arms folded on the back. "What's your name?"

"Ampora," says the breeder, blinking at you. "Eridan Ampora."

~

You learn a lot about oviparans over the next couple of nights. You learn how they're...fertilized, at least three different high-ranking trolls fucking them repeatedly at the height of their cycle, forcing them full of genetic material and not letting it drain for hours. You learn how the eggs press against their organs as they grow, making it impossible to keep much by way of food down; in the Imp facilities they're fed with IVs to ensure the young are well-nourished. You learn how it hurts, all the time, the terrible swollen mass of the eggs like a vast tumor making it difficult to move, impossible to sit or stand or lie comfortably. 

You learn that it is possible to pity someone completely against your will. 

Serket thinks you've gone shithive maggots and is not backward in saying as much. You think Aradia understands, though; she sometimes sits with him when you're busy on the bridge. Nepeta and Equius say nothing to you about it, just keeping to themselves, as they always have. 

~

You're holding the basin for him as he brings up the mouthful of nutrition bar that you coaxed down him half an hour ago. Purple tears clot his eyelashes into damp points. You reflect that when you started this goddamn rebellion in the first place, this was not exactly where you figured you'd end up. 

"Why're you doin' this, Kar?" he gasps, when he can speak. 

"Cause you need it, nookmunch." You set the basin aside. "C'mon, lie down on your side." Sometimes this is less uncomfortable for him than lying supine, and it's easier to breathe when the vast mass of the eggs isn't pressing directly against his diaphragm. You rub his back. "How long do you have left?"

He lets his eyes close, relaxing a little as you work. You can feel all the knobbles of his spine under your fingertips. "Couple weeks, I guess. What are...you gonna do with me, when we land?"

"I dunno." You've been thinking about it. "Get you some medical attention, first of all."

He twists around to look at you over his shoulder. "Your people won't want a breeder hangin' round the place."

"Well, if you don't get fertilized again, you aren't gonna have to _be_ one, right? The whole point of this fucking exercise in the first place is to try and win liberty and equality for trolls regardless of blood color. You planning on trying to take down the rebellion from the inside?"

Eridan laughs, a little ragged sound. "An' winnin' back my place in the glorious Empire? No fear, Kar. The glorious Empire can suck it."

"Well, then," you say comfortably. 

~

You're away from the base when his time comes. Three of the eggs have already arrived when you get the call from Kanaya, and you are only just in time to see the fifth, and last, emerge. It's so strange to see him _not_ swollen fit to burst that you barely notice the eggs themselves; he's drenched in sweat, panting, the stretch-marks livid on his deflated abdomen. You can see his gill-slits properly closed now, as they'd not been while he was gravid; his breathing has lost the faint wheezing edge you're used to. He opens his eyes, at Kanaya's prompting--her hands are smudged with green bruises, he's been holding them so tight--and sees you, and smiles helplessly through the exhaustion. "Kar," he pants. 

"Sorry I'm late," you say, awkwardly. 

"You're here." He reaches for you, and you take his hand in yours. "I did it. Fffuckin' did it. Five a them."

"You did a great job," Kanaya says, beginning to clean up. "They all look viable. Probably violets, but one could be indigo."

"The rebellion can always use more recruits, right?" You squeeze Eridan's hand. "It's over. You don't ever have to do that shit again, you understand?"

He nods, sweat-damp hair falling over his face. The violet streak is almost black when it's wet. "Yeah. Yeah. Kar?"

"Yup."

"Thank you?"

That had been a good goddamn raid, you reflect. Supplies and freed lowbloods--and one highblood, also freed. And five potential highbloods, who could grow up without being marinated in the toxic stew of hemospectrum politics. You meet his purple eyes. 

"Welcome," you say, and mean it.


End file.
